What can I do? I’m here. I have to just take stock of what I learned and move on. I’m grieving right now, so I’m just in for the evening. I wrote a post about Angela in my adjacent blog Behind the Scenes. She just passed away, and I’m just thinking about a book, as I’m trying to develop one, and maybe that piece about her — could end up in the book? Not as is, but I’m trying to figure out what book I’d like to write after all that, wow, a revelation and break down, I mean, if you wake up to your whole life, and it’s not what you thought it was, of course, I think, there was a break down, with a guru telling me, without even needing to ask a single question, who was not there: “it was a therapeutic event” which, after looking back at our relationship, disturbs me as a sentence. As… it was obvious… that I was already on shaky ground back there.
“Death is a really good psychological device,” he said, meaning, a fictional character in a book draft. A psychological thriller. I never experienced hate, in my life, really, I was even against it, but that man, that so-called guru, as that’s how he acted, I hate that guy. I hated that whole decade.
I just want to be done, to be frank. I don’t even want to write a book anymore. But I set that goal for myself, and I don’t understand why it felt so hard, so I’m trying to readjust how I’m approaching it, as I think that was the issue, after being thrust on a journey when I decided to do that— that included me being psychic, or needing manifestation exercises to realize a book?
“What’s the central,” I want to ask Joyce Carol Oates this question, “what’s the central,” very seriously, “energetic frequency of this material?” I just want to dialogue with Joyce Carol Oates about this relationship.
I’m grieving these uesless relationships I got into with men who wanted to “help” when I did not need it nor ask for it. Except, I’m supposed to say, it happened for some reason…? Am I the chosen one Guru? You know? The things he told me…
Sure, years later, I asked the guru to read something, but he presented himself as an expert on my life, psychology, and also he initiated helping me, getting involved, when I did not ask. He didn’t understand that the world is real, do not disrespect someone’s real world. I do not know how that guy’s methods were supposed to help me… so I still deal with this “future” coming into my head, dictating my actions, it’s hard to explain, I’ve needed to sort out my head because of these gurus and shamans, telling me I’m psychic even. I keep letting go of all that, but there’s a seductive element in it, you see. I do not agree—that did nothing for me. I went straight into enabling territory with men exclusively, practically.
So I have to keep stopping, keep telling myself to let this go, to let everyone go, really. Like, my roommate, Black Charles in Charge in a colorful polo, he’s getting me out of my room, hugging me, wanting to introduce me to his girlfriend. Once again Black men are the unsung heroes of my life right now. Just a normal dude who genuinely likes me, actually, right away. He loves his girlfriend, he wants us to talk…you know? I’m looking at this super normal guy, all excited to introduce me to his Columbian girlfriend. It’s taking me a second to adjust to warmth. He’s the nicest guy. He keeps telling me that this is my house, so I can use it as such, the living room, the TV, he has HBO. He keeps laughing at me. He values that I participate in open communication, he’s telling his girlfriend, right? “Chill,” Maria is chill. It’s alright, I’ll readjust to normalcy, but you have to understand, that was the first real hug I got in years, and he’s just doing it naturally, and I was like, why is this man hugging me down the hall? Again, Black men. I have to laugh, right? I didn’t need rich genius-gurus, Charles would laugh, probably. At how I became psychic…the star of stars…? COULD BE! I could get a sportscar. I could have a mansion AKA success…again, where did I disagree? You know? I got sucked in, I had to come out of that, and hold my head — WHERE was I doubting myself? I just got there! And this dick came and put on a real show for me, forget my show, jerk. This guy from Beverly Hills enraged me. And like, from a basic standpoint, who would even disagree with me? I mean, that the basic premise was off?
I have to move on, I woke up this morning and I told myself I need to keep pushing to establish solid ground, and at the same time, I hate where I am right now, but I think finally finding an apartment, the lack of any kind of real interaction over what I went through left me feeling alone, hurt, and out of sorts. It wasn’t the time to pretend like nothing serious happened, if that makes sense, nor to decide that you knew what happened, when I went through a total body event. No one knows enough about psychology to make any assessments. People are misdiagnosed all the time. Psychosis, doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I wasn’t given a diagnosis, if you would, so I just left. Why am I going through a physical event if I’m disconnecting? So, according to the hospital, I went through something…and that’s it. Why this guru pretended like he knew, again, he didn’t need to ask any questions to come to his assessments, just like anyone else, kinda, in my life, but telling me that I’m Carl Jung, after I got out of the hospital, that I was repressed, is a whole other level. Do not LEAD someone down a PATH, psychopath. Looking back on that trajectory, meaning him, the phone calls we had, absurd. I would never do what he did, he clearly disturbed me. I was just unable to recognize it. It was crazy. That relationship was crazy.
“First you have to become the extraordinary man?” He said. I’m looking back on this, like what?????
Can someone — a writer — please hear me??? This isn’t the Hero’s Journey.
I’m laughing because I know a big time writer who probably, like my roommate, would just want to hug me.
These men treated me, just like everyone else, as if what I went through was unreal.
It was not the time to travel. Duh.
I get there are “no limitations to the self,” but that’s not true, okay?
If someone goes to the hospital, they should probably chill for a little while.
Limits, you guys, are good, people have them.
Not the time to slip in, guru, like he was so annoying, because he had an impulsivity problem. I’m not ASKING for career advice, help, nothing. Nada. And then, after I get out of the hospital, he tells me to it’s time to get on social media? I wish he never came into my life. I suffered because of it. He’s suddenly saying, in the middle of the night, he thought about the book, doesn’t this sound nightmarish? And he says something vague. Looking at Joyce Carol Oates, this woman isn’t thinking about someone else’s book in the middle of the night, come on. What about, what are you thinking, since this man wanted to help me saying “I’m HERE” over and over again as if I were a dog?
That was set up before, I assure you, he’s trying to TEACH ME, TEACH ME WHAT?
“I’m here,” he emphasized.
I had no idea what he was saying, why—does he keep on saying that?
WHY can’t I see this, you see? I did not deserve this man, I’m sorry. And the thing is, it’s what his brother told me that stays with me now. That he took his hand, his brother’s hand, and started hitting him with it, “why are you hurting yourself?” That’s psychopathic. And this was delivered to me as wise?
All I had to do was just spend some time reading and thinking, even outloud, and so, I’m doing that now. That’s it! Clean and simple. Just stop writing, chill, get a job, buckle up for a road trip, basically, and have some fun just exploring books you like. Cool, right? That’s what I’m telling someone like me…
You see what I mean? All I had to do was… read… just spend some time thinking… not the book was some sci-fi adventure flick staring some chick in a skin tight suit and slick back hair — I will become a writer in a glow of ethereal light. Come on.
And have every right to question whether or not there was actual abuse there, come on.
I think this past decade just make me think about my past, sure, it did.
I just don’t want to start over, so I’m getting over that, and I’m trying to not suppress myself, actually, I’m trying to just unravel, spill out, keep moving on… I don’t even know the point in continuing to write about my family story, as it only brought me pain and confusion. And sure, I came out integrated, somehow? I seemed to come out with it, back to me, I don’t know how to totally make sense of all that, like, I would never be in these situation again. I cleared the adopted narrative, though it’s somewhat true, yes, and now, I see my parents, I see them. I know exactly who they are… and I definitely have questions. Absurd. I was in a sex scandal when I was four that got very scary. Was it true? And my current family DIDN’T HELP.
My friends didn’t even remember it, you know? And I got weird responses, right? Weirdness.
I didn’t need to turn a book into a psychological object that I was taking out of my head, guru. I can’t stop thinking about Joyce Carol Oates, like what she’d say to this ridiculous relationship — “like the book exists in its finished form in some probable future.” A weird suggestion. Weird form or NURTURING, imagine? Listen to how creepy this is, he’s trying to NURTURE me? WHY? I needed nurturing? Who is this person? I was a thirty year old woman. Then he confesses his love for me over a lost I-TANYA DVD, while role playing my father? Because he thinks my roommate losing a DVD is a “psychological set up.” Look, right around here, I’m feeling BIG BROTHER ENERGY as in my BIG brother would — lose it. Who the fuck is this guy? Suggesting I wasn’t FED, just please, he manipulated me. FEEDING YOU FEEDING YOU. Can you imagine? This is your book writing experience? Some man continuing to SPOON FEED YOU — they FEED YOU??? My cousins. That’s what HE LIKES — THEY FEED YOU. What am I supposed to do with that? Come to, uh, obvious conclusion asshole? Insane. This man was insane.
And like, I have trouble here, letting it go, I do. That was ridiculous.
I keep on trying to give myself space… that wasn’t that esoteric and hard and in need of manifestation. They feed you. He didn’t give a shit that I was clearly not doing well, this relationship was not working at all. And I’m spinning in my own problems, it’s all about me, I’m alone here, when I’m not. Now, if my cousins in Italy told me the second I opened up my mouth that the story wasn’t true — I’m done, gone, leaving. That was a headtrip enough. Now, I hate them, practically. Just please. Go off and be with your whole family. Leave me alone. But back then, I have no concept of SOMEONE ELSE, you see? Now I do. I know I am not alone. YOU can affect me.
Didn’t know.
Unable to make some basic connections.
And the guru goes, “I would think you’d drop the show… you know the show…”
What show?
About my father being a child molester? About the whole story? Just break down, I was trying to follow this, as that’s not what happened, which is fine, but it’s technically a memoir? What show? I didn’t need to do this… and generally, sorry, people don’t respond well to talk of child molesters, just please. Merry Christmas. I mean, how brutal. I was just at this family story which has artistic value, sure, but the guru put on a show for me, no?
Confusing.
“Go back to Italy,” he said, when I’m not from Italy… these people were not my FAMILY like that, they weren’t going to RECEIVE ME or even SEE ME. These were my cousins, and again, that got confused, right? Because of that stupid story, and there is — an element in there, as I was trying to learn through this, why does this keep happening? And I could see I developed character traits, of course, that perpetuated a weird pattern, but I could not chose differently, yet, and I could barely graze them. Not to make people queasy, but who you are, might not be exactly who you are. And from the beginning, step one in this story, I’m already missing a point. I do not have to do this.
Why I had to be dragged down roads, you see? I didn’t. But of course, life is complex, where this man is CONCERNED over my story, and now, fuck it, child molester, I’ll spray it all over your house. So I’m seeing that no one was, really concerned, ever. My father pretended like nothing happened, do do do, here comes the view… is that troubling? You see what I mean? He acted like nothing happened, he acted guilty, even. Four years. Looking at my father, okay, so was I repressed, guru? Did you even know what the fuck you were talking about? I started — following that guy, WHY are you acting like this is normal? What’s happening? Who is this man?
This sex scandal? It was retarded, from a third grader, and yeah, that doesn’t apply to mentally handicapped or impaired people but YOU, parents, wrapped your child up in a sex scandal. And I’m crazy? The problem child? Absurd. And now, looking at the people around me, just go away.
I felt knocked down by family, I really did, I hated my family, I hated practically everyone I ever spoke to about it. I hated how I spoke about it. I hated the guru, I really did, that was…the weirdest relationship I’d ever been in, and why, you know? Why would you act like an expert on anything with someone? A person? When you’re not? Why did you act like manifestation was my problem? I never — did not believe that anything was possible. That wouldn’t even make sense considering where I come from. He wrapped me up in a problem that I did not have. It actually harmed me. His involvement in my life actually harmed me, and it was unnecessary, he didn’t need to mentor me, I was an adult.
Look, his brother telling me that this guru took his hand as a child and started punching him with it, okay? Asking him “why are you hurting yourself?” And this was wise? That explains it all.
I was not a screenwriter, even, and this man had hardly read a book. So, I hate him. I think he was one giant asshole with an obsession with “you create your own reality.” NOT my problem. Thinking about this person’s father, this famous psychologist? Who? That was insane. Imagine if someone started pointing at you after the first outting you had with them…shaking his finger at you, talking like the catepillar from Alice in Wonderland?
“Knoooowww, What do you wanna knoooooowwww, what do you wanna know? Life is not about what you wanna do, it’s about what you wanna know…knowwww…” I remember, right, “what do I wanna know…?” He said, haughty, and even dramatically, gesturing to himself, as if he were instructing me. “I do not know what you want to know,” like, really, this sounds like an Alice in Wonderland conversation, “I can only know,” he touched himself, “what I want to know… I do not know what you want to know…” Absurd, I literally just met this guy.
Boundaries, they’re essential kids. Now, these people would have never even flew past my radar, type deal, so. I’m leaving, that’s me today, please, enough. You just met me. Am I supposed to yield to someone else who feels everything? A psychic?
That stupid story, my stupid childhood, I can’t even talk to my cousins in Naples, because of how they invaded my personal life, and I didn’t know I could say no. They don’t even remember and I can’t forget. That got confusing, these two called me their “like kid,” when I was thirty, and then, in the end, I hear “the whole family was there” which doesn’t include me, which is why I didn’t take them seriously. So now, I get hurt. I said I’m not a kid, hello? I have no interest in speaking with them. It sucks, because Angela is gone, which has sort of emboldened me and also broken my heart.
She asked me what’s the spiritual lesson do you think? Rage was. Um, not making family in this way. We’re cousins, close, nice, keep it real. Go make your own. No? That took a lot of families. So I keep battling between feeling like I need to remain connected, right? Not cut off, and feeling like I need to. So I don’t know what that means as I’m aware of myself, meaning, people believe in lessons, life lessons, like I’m a soul who has come here to learn something. So — that’s where I am now, on the other side of a story.
I don’t know what to do, because writing a book about them thrusted me into the same problem— of a mess that might still work for a book, as I’m working through that part, and there’s no reason why my cousins can’t factor in, but that guru went on and on about how THEY FEED ME. He became obsessed with me being FED, because he didn’t think I was fed?? Looking back, this man took no responsibility for what he said, and this man should be kept on a leash. Now, I have trouble moving on, maybe because I finally landed somewhere.
What was the deal with that psychopath? Come out come out, right? Telling him I met a guy, and did that bother you? A chef. “The THEME here is nourishment,” he began here. “What?” I’m acting like an idiot. “What does that mean?” I had an enchanted vibe, right? He did not know, haughty, but he looked at me as if he did. “I’m always feeding you…” and I was like, don’t we have a recurring lunch date? You see what I mean? Look, I’ve been feeling major BIG BROTHER ENERGY from the comics, like, what??? “I’m always feeding you…” and then, in the end, it was YOUR COUSINS FEED YOU… come on. What was he SUGGESTING?
Did I come from, you guys, some newsworthy adolescence? Am I Jon Benet? In a sense? Come on.
I’m going to read this woman’s memoir, she was written up in the Times, how her life exploded and she built something better. That’s what I have to concentrate on. They feed you. FEED YOU. I mean, this man kept saying it, so logically, where do you think I’m going to GO? I was not a video game.
I keep trying to make peace with it, all that happened, even what happened with my cousins. My medical emergency sucked — that sucked bad. It sort of made me want to die, actually. It’s like, I get the larger problem. And I suppose I was a trauma case? I was in some terrible relationships.
I didn’t know if I had been raped, for the love of God, going through dreams in Rosa’s room, where I’d have to walk for hours, admitting that I felt that way, for the love of Christ. My body would start calming down when I did. What am I suppose to do with that? I tried to communicate, and no one is asking me a question, I had not one friend.
I had no one to talk to. No one even seemed to clock that I was in the hospital in “my family,” no??? You see why I was confused? Acting like I’m your kid, this is to my cousins, and then THEY vanished, and not a peep, not a question, but when it was UNREAL, I got NOTHING BUT QUESTIONS. Now, Angela, she gave me a space, because even if I went through hell, I didn’t want to miss Carmine’s wedding, and I was traveling nonsensically.
These people weren’t my family like that, I couldn’t rely on them in a sense if I went through hell. That’s not who they are… they don’t have to be… but yeah, sure, I was confused. I couldn’t go to my adopted family, that’s for certain.
And like, the way I approached writing, you see, I had to recalibrate.
It’s not so much that the guru called me, he didn’t have to. I was a wreck, but in looking back on our relationship leading up to that, well, what was going on to begin with? I did not need to go down this road, and yet…? Spiritual circles would say, well, you did.
Then, my cousins who acted like parents with me. He started picking on my body, she did, like why are you two so obsessed with my body? You’re not my parents, you offended me, as a cousin. I was in the hospital, I was 93 pounds, so it’s going to take me a second, and why does this man keep on calling me “bella?” Enough. It was the last thing I needed. These two. Then, I have a Flora acting like a bitch, like I’m happy to learn about botany, I’m finding a little happiness to get SHIT for my joy, AGAIN. These two.
And the thing is, when I got out of the hospital, my experience down there didn’t go away. And these two — I couldn’t even place myself — because I got activated down there, I had an awareness I couldn’t really explain. I had no idea, did this happen? To me? I had a terrifying experience with those two, so I didn’t mind not seeing them, but they acted strangely from my perspective, and I did not know why. I was in the hospital. Why are you giving me SHIT? Was she jealous? I was so confused. So that was strange, having had to deal with that area of my body, okay? Like I had to heal, something.
They’re not asking me, hey, how are you doing for real? And honestly, no one did. It’s not something to not talk about. I don’t know why people do that. I could have used a hand, for real. That took me years, it really did, to sort through that, I mean, that just turned out to be the worst decade, I became psychic, unnecessarily, like — I would blow someone away for approaching me like that.
I started going through dreams, my dreamscape was a battle. Luckily, this particular type of dream, yes, sexual, didn’t happen too often, but it was the experiece of being haunted, and feeling sharp sensations, mixed up with this stupid slytherin who farted on the phone at me, on top of it, and am I psychic? No, well, now everyone’s changing their tune, “it doesn’t work like that,” and how do you know so much about psychicness? Do you have a textbook, jerks? Fire, I wanted to breathe fire upon these people. I’d wake up, in the middle of the night, these were nightmares, I had to reject the feeling outright, “I did not deserve this, I didn’t want this…” just expelling the sensation. No. I tried to make reaches to people — and no one was there.
I would have to walk for hours, just stamping out this sensation, I didn’t care what it was, so I went through states, most definitely. Was this true? I couldn’t even admit that I felt like I might have been abused? Or something? I didn’t always understand why admitting that helped me to calm down.
I couldn’t even look at a child for a while, you see. Just the experience I went through. I couldn’t even stomach looking at a child. What am I supposed to do with that? I have no idea. I mean, like anything else let it go, I just have no idea what to do with a book, so I’m trying to figure that out now. I took a deep breath, finally, on a terrace in Istanbul, and I thought, there’s no harm in just looking up sexual abuse.
A psychosis is defined as a break from reality? Why did I feel so much in my body then? I don’t hear people who have gone through psychosis talk like this.
I was living in a palace in Fez, Morocco, as I traveled for a few years for no reason, really. Looking back on these brothers, who treated me as if a medical emergency were unreal. Why would you support someone without any money who got out of a hospital because YOU even think they were a product of severe neglect of not being fed — right??? It doesn’t matter right??? That’s what the guru said, how much my rent was, because the money would magically take care of itself. I know it sounds ridiculous. Look, me, myself, even ten years ago, my friend goes through something like that? I’m hanging on. “Travel?” No. “Lay down,” actually.
This logic over there — gurus, a little weird.
But this palace. I’ll tell you about it. I ended up in Fez, I don’t know what to say about this travel choice I made, as the basic premise made no sense, and these gurus honestly made no sense, real sense. Like, I can do anything and anything and ideate money into existence but I can’t afford to live in the United States, so go abroad, save money? How? I was in the hospital. In the end, you might need to just get a job… uh huh? Sorry I got involved there. “You’re psychic,” ridiculous. Why is his brother helping me? It’s called — get a job, get an apartment you can afford, and go get yourself the help you need, meaning, I do not know what happened, and I shouldn’t shut down, what I should do, is honestly admit what you feel and go deal with it.
This help thing, I’m telling you.
I get the sense that some people call them… seeking their advice…. why?
It’s less that I didn’t make my choices, it’s more, why did I get involved with these people, and I think I wanted to just take myself in, type of deal, because I was, not perfect, not in need of the guru’s “teaching” in his words. Just based on his misreading of the situation.
This palace looked like a movie set, it was a real palace, the first location in Morocco with electricity. The home of the former Prime Minister, an exquisite novel, Great Expectations. Built in 1901 by Jews and Muslims, so there was a black star in the thresholds of the blue room with touches of pink. Along the length of the long exposed courtyard, it took a solid minute to cross it, it felt like that, I never timed it. Along the length of it were two stories of corinthian-inspired columns, covered in blooms — green, black, white — and math — black, yellow flecks— blue. A swirling, darting cosmos, that’s what home became. As each of the four sides around the courtyard was tucked into the shade, I had an table in the corner, next to my door, covered in tiles, in an archway covered in tiles, a portal. I had statuesque columns between the courtyard and me… inlaid with marble, it appeared as if flowers fell so softly eternally upon the ground, and was that a fountain carved out of ivory? Or an exquisite stone like flows like water? They didn’t repaint it, so it was weathered around the arches on either end of the courtyard, as if there were a story dying to emerge, a hotel play. The family imported Murano glass, so the three ornate, handcarved screen of three arches sparkled on the inside, red and green. I lived in a novel. The master suite, upstairs, with the crystal chandelier outside the door, it swung a little in the breeze. The entrance was inalid with a deep blue Murano glass, though that room didn’t compare to those two rooms with an entire wall made of crystal. I sat in the red room, dazzled, by the light fractaling off the fine lines, the cutouts of the cosmos, the one grand room… there was a long table down the center, wood. The room radiated a warm bath of red…
To be frank, I used Death as a psychological device, right? I’m quasi-joking since this guru told me that’s what it was? And a good one, he said, and what sense does that make? Please, this man was a psychopath. I’m looking at this character, I mean, in my mind, encased in blooms, the cosmos, and I would have to talk myself down from these dreams. I had to take a sick day after these dreams, or two. I couldn’t work, it took a couple of days to calm down from that dream. I would sometimes write a scene with this character, just tell me something inspirational about it being over, if you would, so I would write a scene and process it out, simply. I lost the ability to pick up a phone, because no one even thought of calling me for real, the way that this one woman called, it wasn’t helpful. No one stops to ask, “what did you go through, exactly?” Everyone acted like they knew. I didn’t start trying to say something yet. The guru, of course, not even ONE message of “how are you?” Because he isn’t “like that.” WHY would this relationship help me? My mother was insane, cruel. Fuck you.
I’m telling you this guy — he was a fucking asshole.
He would never contact me…
Did I deserve that?
I’m telling you, this guy. Darkness.
But I sort of starting conceiving of a story with Death. I suppose I needed wisdom at that time, and I started thinking about this character, going, I’m sorry? This character never got dark, this character wasn’t in control, type deal, besides, this character would say, “why would your imagination turn against you?” You see? This is a higher perspective. This is Death, so in my mind, you see, he’s a gentleman, he wouldn’t harm a fly, that’s not who he is, he is a door. That is all. He’s not evil, he’s not interested in you, for real, in taking you prematurely, he’s not coming for you, because he doesn’t have to move. “The,” uh, “ultimate guide,” according to guru number two. That’s not his jurisdiction, how someone dies. He’s in every moment, in every day, there’s a poetic meaning to death that extends beyond the literal. He’s an inherently literary figure, hence, he’s the oldest storyteller. He’s been apart of every story ever told. I needed to connect with that wisdom, so it’s not so much that this character became dark, or he was instructing me to do weird things, he remained a character, if that makes sense, but the guru’s comment made it confusing, like his navigational advice to “the future writes the past.” I didn’t dislike the idea, if you would, but it was unnecessarily positioned as a psychological device, and if you can read between the lines, he’s essentially telling me that he thinks I am repressed, in this way. Since I had to FEEL MY FEELINGS, I mean, what are you talking about? So the character wasn’t my issue in a sense, but the idea that I needed a psychological device to begin with — WHY?
And this man claimed to care about me. Guess who else did? Guess who loved me deeper than anyone? Dr. J. Bullshit. His perspective on reality was quasi sci-fi, as if he got some sick idea in his head that I was an experimental genius psychologist? I mean, what was this? “What you went through,” without knowing anything about it, “reminded me of Carl Jung’s The Red Book…” ? I’m sorry? Psychic feeler? He acted as if he were a psychic feeler. if you must know? Death — he’s standing with a goddamn cup of coffee — telling me to forget this crap. It’s just a character, that’s all, so you want to write magical realism? You know? So I might think about it, with aviators on, pulling out some deep shit in the process. I have no idea, right, right now, what happened, or all that details, but I look back on that decade, at least, and go, “alright, you were crazy.”
But, at times, this character was all I had. You know, his eyes just shining, there was poety in them, just the perpective, that he’s been apart of every story ever told, so there was never judgment, I needed that, so I created it, and you know, people have gone through terrible events, and he could tell me a story, there, and beautifully. I’ll just decide later. I don’t know what to say because that got rather mixed up, be real, I don’t know what to say about the body of all that, but I think, at that point, there was something about Death — that he always looks a man straight in the eye, by the way, no hierarchy, I thought about it. Just a human being, if that makes sense. Was I that fucked up, guru? Did I come from hell on earth to you? To then be treated like, “you know the scene in this movie I’ve never seen?” He’s going on and on about my feelings to then dash them with talk of…not coming from the Holocaust? When I look back on what I wrote, that was grossly unfair. I hated this man.
“Death is a really good psychological device…”
I didn’t exactly loose the line between real and not real, but did you?
People believe in all sorts of things, you know?
Death, he’d be that type, in my mind.
Like, Clarice Lispector is channeling characters, becoming them, and there’s nothing sci-fi about it, if you will, like it’s not real, you know? But who knows, maybe she pushed those limits, I don’t know, but she’s very interesting, but the effect that story could have, I just didn’t really get it.
I called the guru, after I sent him…a shitty draft, like, uh, that’s all you have to say. He said nothing, he always said nothing, but we don’t need to speak, do we? “Words aren’t my primary form of communication,” imagine? Just please. “THE TOPIC SENTENCE IS…” “my mother gave me away to a total stranger when I was four,” and he said it as if I weren’t getting it… is that fair? That’s not even it. “She wrapped me up in a sex scandal when I was four,” and whether or not this woman WAS a total stranger actually — is a question. It was like being in a relationship with someone who wasn’t actually there. This guy. Telling me around Xmas in Naples is a Sport, that “you were born to parents who were not there, that sounds divine to me,” making some kind of connection with the Feast of the Immaculate Conceptiom? When that’s NOT what it’s about. It’s about MARY goddammit. Her parents WERE THERE. It drives me nuts. Her SIN was lifted from the tadpole of her person. What kind of response is that?
Was I unreal, were you unreal?
This guru thought I was repressed no?????????? Lots of question marks. And maybe I was? I do not know.
WHY do I need a psychological device? You see what I mean? He said I was repressed? For a long time? Later? I imagine every writer in the world would be sitting forward, reading this text, like, I’m so confused, since when is a fictional character a psychological device? He was a writer too. Imagine? I suppose there’s psychology in it, as there’s psychology in everything, I guess, I just don’t understand WHY you would call a fictional character a psychological device. I get you believe IDEAS are real. I don’t necessarily disagree. No, this was unnecessary.
My parents were insane, sick, whatever, that I know.
I went through experiences down there, I don’t know what that means.
But Death, still, he’s the oldest storyteller, I saw a man, every man, in every moment, eternity, and the simple goodbye, a very real idea, that began in some enchanted apartment at the Chelsea Hotel. Sure.
I mean, look, I hated being psychic, it was unnecessary, it was not my gift, or something.
That goes to both groups of people who came into my life. I was being encouraged…to be psychic. And, someone might ask, what does that mean? And I do not know what to say. I’ve had some mysterious experiences, sure, but not anymore, not really, though the Ghost of Barbara Harris is good, funny. But of course, to the GURU, “the line between life and death is arbitrary,” interesting.
I suppose in the end, I really wanted to break free from my family story, because it caused me so many complications. The guru represented a GIANT BLIND spot. In the kitchen with my cousins, I’m coming to understand, as I’m writing this, that I didn’t need to do this. I thought I had some duty to go through this story again, not really understanding it. I said it, day one, both my parents were sick, I get knocked down by disbelief, and I’m getting closer to people over that story, because it AFFECTED them. I don’t see the OPTION of — flipping out and leaving. Stop acting parental. I do not care about your perspective, I’m asking you to consider MINE.
You’re a thirty year old, you haven’t been back in like, fifteen years, and the moment I open my mouth, I’m going to have to deal with complications, because no one is basically believing me. Didn’t need parents at that point. Though it was interesting, I suppose, to consider you strange strange creatures to me. I just didn’t think I needed to conform, you know, that I needed to have this, necessarily, like I wasn’t weakened by my experience. So, I think back, count my losses, just let go of the whole thing, because in the end, yes, I got the picture a long time ago — I am NOT IN THIS FAMILY. Right? Angela died, and the whole family was there, at least, right? Not me.
Cool, I’m a cousin. Again, why I couldn’t just be a fucking cousin. You know?
The thing is, I don’t even know how I could go through the — sort of — same story again as it’s over. Maybe Death will become a cool guy in a bowler hat, even, though he probably wouldn’t like that… just picturing some of these early conversation of “you shaping me,” from him, “not the other way around…” it’s not that it’s not interesting, I’m sure I could develop it, I wouldn’t be the first, these characters are common. But just, hear me out, “this is a psychological device…” I started just, taking that in. Because HE felt, that I was repressed, and using a psychological device unconsciously to help me through my… memoir? Okay. Like I was using HIM, unconsciously, to help me through my life? And did that make sense? I developed an attachment to this person, I never felt that way, you know, where I couldn’t get through my week, “you create your own reality…” this didn’t hit the right chord, guys, I didn’t come from your world. I’m a fan of mutuality. Connection. So is Charles in Charge.
He’s in charge, and I like someone who’s in charge. Nothing but respect there, friendship.
Wow, what a journey that was. And like, when I think back to our relationship, the start of it, all I needed was, “okay, this person disturbed you, actually,” so get off. There’s nothing but pain here. I do not miss him, please, do not look back on that with an ounce of affection. Am I supposed to apologize? You know? Like, in the end, the fault lands on me, where I look at… just the basic set-up as problematic. Like, cool, met the slytherin, but why am I starting to take medicines with this person? Drugs. Not all the time— he does, but why am I doing this? You see? So I get I got into a fling with someone he knew and loved, key point, and their relationship was not exactly platonic, I left, bye bye, that was a reaction from me I didn’t anticipate, I didn’t really understand it, but again, I’m not entirely sure if I was handled properly, given the story I had, and THIS slytherin hates me, why? He won, man, I don’t see it that way, because Jesus Christ, if I knew, I would have never gotten involved, and I don’t even know WHY I DID, seriously! Literally. No idea. I look back and go, WHAT? No affection. No good memories.
So when you call, after I leave my job, the one you set me up with, because of RACISM, you see, and you start telling some confusing chain, where you found out because his girlfriend, okay, I’m not there, I’m terrified of you. And then, he said, “I don’t want you to go through anymore pain…” in relation to that job, as PROTESTS — truly — are erupting outside my window, a significant day. UM? I left because of racism… my pain? What pain? Was this a set up? Imagine? This is where I ended up. That guy pretended he liked me, if not loved me, just like my mother, remember — I guess, with a hand, a question, I could draw that association. She hated me. He farted on the phone at me when I got out of the hospital, so did he send me — in an emotional state, did my fling person, did one of them send it? When I asked for my money back? That kicked off the worst of it. I had already gone through a couple of experiences I couldn’t explain. Sure, they could have, of course, I got the message regardless. I’m a piece of shit? Is that it? Not a good friend? It was deserved even, wasn’t it slytherin? Shame on you, not me.
So I don’t know what to say about that journey, but it changed me, and still, I feel, regardless, like I’m here.
My other friend — oh, the political assasin, my manager, my actor, yeah, that guy— the blond said that he wasn’t your friend. The slytherin. I was looking at blondie, on my couch, when the movers were suddenly not coming? He appeared to forget to call them or something? As he continued to act weirdly. He wanted to kill someone, for real, though he wasn’t being serious, except he was, okay? That’s a scary thing to say. Then, he’s talking about Death, imagine? Behind my back. I just said I think I have a cool idea, basically, to him. He wants to play him, even, maybe a girl does, too, that he knows, by what he said. WHAT? I’m peering through this. Then, I move IN with this person, okay? Practically. “As your manager,” he said. I do not DO anything that requires a manager! I’m not an ACTOR. And the guru, he’s the only person I told, and he’s like, it’s a dark time, whatever, sure. I might not move in with that person, or I might have not lost sight, of — what is happening you, friend? You’re saying drug addicts are on a higher plane of consciousness, not a good look. And YEAH, I’m coming to realize, covered in paint, that my mother was a DRUG ADDICT. He sat on my chair, in the end, and I tried just closing that door, because — I was confused. I should have confronted it, kicked him out. In the end, he says, “write the movie about what happened…” like do you want a role, actor? Do you want to direct it? Are you managing me at the same time? I hadn’t even finished a fucking book. Was he even aware of what he was doing? You see what I mean? If you’re contemplating killing ANYONE, it’s not that hard to — uh, uh oh. The only way to enact change is to kill someone…
Send in Dr. J.
Let her put on the show for us all.
Dancing on lawns — desperately needing to get to the IRS…
I saw the dark side of fame, strangely.
I ended up in this apartment, wondering who this was.
So I don’t know.
What am I supposed to say? Shall I spin in my friends — nooooo, can’t be, noooo, can’t be… when they don’t even know the full story. Shall I dance around, great, thanks, and you? Nothing MAJOR happening. Charles in Charge. I think what’s hard for me, is that, you only have one life, you know, I didn’t want to do this, any of it. And, with these two slytherins, if stuff started coming up for me, you see? NO ONE saw me. No one. I wasn’t treated like these two were. Where, I’m being asked to hold space for the guy because he took too many drugs, no? I got that now. Nope, today, that’s a giant no. Where was my care? Why didn’t you send in back up for me? I mean, I contacted these people, tried, and not a peep. Two months later, after the, uh, 5 AM message. Nothing. Did I not help enough? Did I not deserve some help? Did I not pay enough? I was so — confused. No one did a proper evaluation of me, no one took my story seriously.
I was not someone to treat casually. It sounds so obvious, doesn’t it?
On this journey to get here, over these past four years, swatting away STUPID guru phrases of “betwixt and between,” like, get the hell away from me, and I broke away, I did, and he every now and then sent me… a message, a hook, because he wanted ME to say hello to him, like he couldn’t even say hi to his friend? Imagine? Piece of shit. Excuse me. His brother, he said, when I said, I have so many characters in my head, right now, he goes, “this is a gift.” Jeffrey Allen said, “ask them to leave…” you see the difference? Okay. Thanks that one helped. And then, I say, to him, I don’t know if I was abused, finally, I got to a specialist, because no one was there…and yet I’m supposed to want to talk to these people? A friend couldn’t CALL? And I’m supposed to SETTLE for THIS?
I kept walking a line, straddled two realities at once, which was tense, but there was a direction that seemed to make me well. I made peace with it. I figured that it might clarify itself over time. It is, I just don’t know what that means, because I felt like I had to heal. I had the strangest experiences…I have a body awareness that’s remarkable to me, whatever that means, I had stomach problems, for a while. I did receive that 5 AM message in the gut, a block of stone moved, how extraordinary, and hit another, but I was under a lot of tension at that time. I went through some experiences, like pain in my hips, I almost passed out. I even had ayahuasca reactivate in my gut, imagine? I started to have an enormous panic, but looking back, I can’t totally place myself, graining away from this guru. I called him, at the end, and I asked him, you see, “what’s going on?” And he didn’t need to ask, that’s my point, he just said, “don’t you think you were scared?” Being in another house all of a sudden. When he’s DRAWING conclusions… and then, he has to go, bye…………..
Like that.
I went through so much pain in my hips, it was a couple of days, and down there. Ayahuasca — truly — reactivated itself in my gut, on my way to Melissa’s house, and I ended up having an ayahuasca experience that was next level. Truly. I was in a slightly altered state of consciousness upon arrival… and then, the vines came into the room, energy wise, and I’m seeing multiple screens, appear, with moving pictures on them, okay? Yes, a subtle wind sensation in my head, winds, neurological. So I’m looking at Melissa like, uh, should you try ayahuasca? Since she brought it up during this experience. This was spooky. And she stayed with me, as people refer her to grandma, as I tried to just work through this pain, until I practically passed out. In my hips. So when I got a flare up, on this floor, in my hips, years later, which has gone away, thankfully, I was like, um? I got checked out, I’m fine. I’m just saying, I went through a whole body event. And this extraordinary experience truly, I’ll tell you. Psychic screens? Ayahuasca communicating the obvious? I had the sensation of her being present with me as I battled with that part of my hips? I came back to, because something was rising from a point of depth, inside of me, in my stomach, that was unnatural, so I got out of bed, and I heard this literally BOOM within me:
“I have seen Gods die to become ordinary men, and I seen ordinary men die to become extraordinary men…”
Okay?
I told the guru that, the whole thing, how much pain I was in? “Cool line,” he said.
Okay.
So, let me just toss that in. Not stop, not like, you should go check that out? You see? No one was actually there, just think about what he said, idiot, about my parents not really being there. I wish he weren’t there, if you would. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m blaming anyone here, exactly.
I went through a whole event.
I told the specialist some of it, all of it, I am not trying to SAY anything, like, huh, don’t worry. Ayahuasca reactivating in my gut, right? I never had that experience since, just to say. That was epic for sure. Who cares how much money the apartment is, right guru? I could literally speaking meditate the money in existence, who gives a shit about the IRA, or it will take care of itself, like that even sounds sane?
So I’ve spent a lot of time on my blog, recently, just needing to, I don’t know, but I really went through the ringer, and writing about my childhood — brought me ALL THIS. So do I even want to? What do I even want to write? Is this…interesting?
The ayahausca experience was — wow. Psychic screens. One, two, three, just hovering there, it’s a hallucination, I know that, I can feel what’s happening in my brain, even, subtle winds… the images were, you know, getting in a car. A map. Oh, I’ll tell you this. As I had pain in the lower region of my body, I sort of gasped, through this, when she said she couldn’t have kids, she had problems in her ovaries? Really? When she was sitting right in front of me, and with the ayahuasca “in the room,” wink, but in my mind, of course, I don’t know. The world is a mysterious place. I went through a whole experience. I don’t know what to say. I figured I would just be somewhat open about it, because it was enormous, and I don’t know why… if there were just too much going on at the same time, if you would, as — I do not know, with my family, the one, the one I started with, if there was more going on than I understood. And though the guru might not have thought it was possible with his psychic senses, not being fed, sure, of course, the theme was, of course, nourishment. And to the plant medicine people and him, I was psychic, even too psychic to manifest, some crap. Then, dude, blondie, wanting roles in films…
You’re in the wrong place. And he told me he was helping out his other writer friend, hoping to get an audition, so, but she, at least, had a deal, and guess what? They fall through, I’m sure. I don’t know, I don’t know how to describe that, as I felt like I disconnected from what was happening around me, but why would I want to connect? With some of it? But “you create your own reality,” so I didn’t confront anyone—can you take your dreams of the apocalypse and fuck off. Dark times. I get it’s “really coming,” you know? I do. It’s all REALLY happening, yeah. Delusion, it’s a goddamn epidemic. It’s really coming, THE apocalypse. I get it. The world is going to end, in one catastrophic blow out. Absolutely. What believe in, you know, it always amazed me.
Anyway, I wasn’t planning to do this, spend another day on this computer, sharing all this, just, I got so hurt, and I feel less hurt, actually, in writing from here, so I’ll keep figuring out what to do with it, I’ll keep trying to settle my finances, so I can keep seeing that specialist, so I can maybe glean a little how people wake up to… abuse of some kind? He works with psychedelics as well, so I was hoping to understand this all psychologically, like could I have received a message online physically? As I did? I mean, I had stopped taking psychedelics, by then, but could I have had an experience like that? Though I hadn’t taken it in years? I still smoke marijuana from time to time, and I don’t have any problem, though I rarely do, now, because I regret getting involved at all with any drugs, truly, mostly because it’s just an arena that’s a touch too complicated, but I don’t think that’s it, because I’m fine, I can smoke, on that end, so I don’t know. That just sounds so physical and that, I don’t know, was the least of my issues? And, you know what I’m going to ask, again, was I taken advantage of, somewhere?
Well, you know what they say, it’s not what happens to you, it’s what you do with it.
The, uh, future writes the past…
So I wanted, according to the guru, to be here, right? Looking back on all that.
I can’t even think about my father, can’t. I have no clue what to do with him.
I had all sorts of questions. I still do. What I saw, you know, in there, I can’t even repeat, you know. I suppose the body doesn’t really exist in mental health, and I couldn’t even get PAST it, in my case. So what was it? I keep laughing, imagining me getting an acceptance letter from Harvard, lol, like, “you should come here…” and study psychology, or something. Wouldn’t that be amazing? People really wanting to talk to me about all this. “Forget these small minded people…”
“Psychic screens?”
YEAH, from the “ghost of Barbara Harris.”
The specialist said that people described some of what I said, and in his mind, YEAH, it could have really happened, sure, but even he seemed to act as though it’s vague? We’ve only spoken once thus far. People told me that even if something didn’t happen to me, I still could have processed it as real? Like I could have felt sensational awakenings in that area of my body? To end up on a floor? Is that for real? I went through hell. Real hell. And when I look back at this 5 AM message, whatever, and this guru, I never, in my life, could have imagined that I could be in that relationship, I’m telling you. And given Dr. J, which is the specialist target, she’s his target, forget your father, who was this lady? She was so unhinged. Given the sex scandal I was in, which, if anyone gave me a second, it would sound like a sex scandal, for sure, if I told you what happened. Well, what do you with that?
So I just keep on… moving past it, without any problems, either.
I’ve had ups and downs, but I don’t have any mental health issues, outside of — some of these patches, now, of the FUTURE, or something. So that clears. Some of that attitude makes me feel a little stirred up for no reason, like I gotta go and MAKE IT, when I wasn’t exactly problematic about it. So I keep putting away the future…I keep trying to clear that as a force that’s propelling me forward, you see, like this isn’t… dictating… anything. This isn’t real, as far as I know. It’s a seductive idea, I understand, so I have these little minor things to shake off, and I get scared, because I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to try and perform write, just keep going. I wish I was past my family story, you know? I wish I wasn’t starting over, and going, okay, but I’m trying another context, live storytelling, something, the book, whatever, I’ll get there. I don’t even know what to say.
I was triggered from all sides, just triggered from all sides.
It felt like some of these experiences I went through resulted in… positive ends, like, I kept moving past something, but a lot kept coming at me. Like, my friend, the assasination plot, the manager line, like, I might have needed to call someone, you see, in reverse? Across the board. There are many people out there, and that cosmos, the lambada, I always end up in that living room… with this Brazilian Jewish family dancing the night away, to all that’s possible, in a sense, it’s vast world.
So I went through something, and I got out on the other side, and I had to — get rid of gurus, psychics, shamans, the whole gang. I had to take distance from friends, because them acting as if I wasn’t saying what I was saying was — too confusing. I took distance with my cousins, because that was too confusing. I took distance from my adopted family, because that was too confusing. I sent Dr. J some subject-only emails, was that true, bitch? I don’t, I still can’t call Angelica, right? I mean, after all that, but she wasn’t even sure. It astounds me that I wouldn’t be able to place that, but again, I have no clue what to say… you know?
I feel present, I feel like I’m trying to envision my success or enthusiasm, but I might not end up a star? Or something? Peering through this past, like really? Taking a breath, because I felt like I got into a horrific accident, died, came back, roaring — you see. Nice try. There was no way I wasn’t going to fully recover, hell no. All the insanity, real unreal, aside. I became an X-MEN, supernatural, yes. Comedy was healing. There was a magic in it. I crossed over into the real, which is the public space, and you should test out your ideas there, for sure. Some of these things I heard… the audience is like, oh? Reality happens between us, in that sense.
I’m just taking it step by step, and yes, I want to throw out this idea here, there, everywhere, but I’m going to try and understand at least on that end, because I have no idea what to say about those years on Miracle Mile, except my mother did that, my father did that, sprinkle in dementia, a secret, a few families, and… the psychic period. And now, I’m here. With this ghost of Barbara Harris, of course.
The slides of the cosmos is good, sort of retro music, I’m in a stupid top hat, why? Cate Blanchett coming to the screen as Elizabeth, “I am your virgin queen.” “I was in a sex scandal,” reverb…lightning speed, “hang on…” shit got crazy. Shit got real crazy. “Make sure, please, before you administer drugs, to conduct a proper assessment…do not rely on your PSYCHIC GIFTS…”
“I will become a writer!!!!” Directing this spaceship. “I can do this!!!!”
I could go off on some surreal dream, it’s true, I have a lot to try, develop, at least.
Now I’ll look bright and connect with audience— “are you psychic? Who’s an empath?” Lots of hands, figured. I have to try and set that one up. EVERYONE’s an empath. Obama, he’s chill.” (I’m laughing.) “Can someone PLEASE explain what this means? Empath, what does that mean to you?” I’ll tell you about Angela, this bitch, boom, she fucking blew you away, this empath healed me and shit, became Venus. “Who’s MANIFESTING?” Wait, I’ll get a psychic tip, “I’m seeing Ben Affleck, he’s tuning in, trying to communicate with me regardless if he knows it,” shrugging. “He is, yes, he’s manifesting a lot right now” hands between us, “dealing with his emotions, about it,” just because like, damn, that was a lot coming at me for someone who already went through enough, basically, you know? And I went through what I needed to? I guess?
But there’s nothing but possibilities in all this, nothing but shows and praise in my future, the slides of the cosmos… “sex scandarrrrr…”
That’s it today. I gotta go and keep settling with the present, go for a walk, everything’s in motion, I have to pick ten songs to sing so I can make a video with this pianist, I have to keep finding more musicians to sing with, obviously, and I keep letting go of ideas I didn’t think I had a problem with, and I’ll keep reaching for my fullest potential, a solid book idea, industry night, comedy, as I feel the best there, honestly, dancing to semi-charmed kinda life, lol. Maybe I should try singing it. And I gotta keep watching weird movies, lol, and tv shows, no issues, and find a monologue and some scenes, and that always makes me feel calm, serene, even, just happy. Life turns out, hopefully, to be long. I spoke to Adam yesterday, just trying to be a good friend, because that ended up making me feel like a terrible person, and he lost two friends in their forties, come on, so he was sad, and he didn’t have much to say, and that’s fine, so, I’ll keep checking up on my sensitive Adam.
So that’s it.
Bye.
I can’t decide if I should keep writing, or stop, as I feel open, in that way, like, freewriting a minute has been good, but I have to keep getting to that book proposal, so I’m going to just see how that feels, because I didn’t really want to talk about that year, or decade, as it was mixed up there, what can I say? You know? Maybe it’s impressive that I’m fine, I don’t know, like I’m — just fine. You can technically heal from anything, technically, I think that’s true. I don’t know, it depends on how the future goes, I don’t know what to say, yet, but I sort of feel like things are going to go well for me, actually, so I’m trying to sit in that, even if I’m spending a little time getting all that out of the way. Because, it might be a better story, actually, that I’ll keep figuring out—to this soundtrack: